Lily Waffles of Wisconsin

When Daddy-O Eric adopted me from the Milwaukee Humane Society in February, they told him I was six years old. One vet visit later, they thought maybe I was closer to four.

A lady never reveals her age, of course. That kind of classified information stays between me and mini-me.

Like fine wine or the seven wonders of the world, I really am ageless. Timeless. And at the moment treat-less. Got any?

On my way to the dog park to get those big boys in line. Great Danes? Mastiffs? Bring ’em on. You think they scare me? Think again!

I humor my family, I really do. They provide the necessities of life (neck rubs, rawhide, visits to Aunt Nancy’s) and I give them the cuddle-bugging and entertainment they crave. Pretty decent trade-off. Sometimes there are moments like THIS, but what can you do? People like to put stuff on Corgis. Weird stuff.

Keep the food coming or these monkeyshines are kaput.

Let me put a vicious rumor to rest right now: I do not snore. I have never snored. I will never snore.